Page 26 of Playmaker

With mere feet to go to the goal, I faked, then shot on the backhand.

The goalie was fast. She made the save, but the rebound got away from her.

There was a flash of black and gold at the corner of my eye, and I turned just in time to see Anastasia—who’d apparently followed me into the zone—fire the puck right into the back of the net.

The fans absolutely lost their minds.

I was first to Anastasia and threw my arms around her. “Nice shorty!”

“Nice setup!” She slapped my back. “That was amazing!”

A second later, our other two teammates were there, congratulating both of us. We had the lead now, and the jailbreak goal had Sabrina out of the penalty box.

Hopefully that meant a big relief for her and a small redemption for me.

As Sabrina skated across the ice to the bench, she smiled at Anastasia. When her gaze landed on me, though, the smile vanished, and she just continued toward the bench.

My heart sank. I deserved that. I knew I did. I hoped the effort to keep Nashville from converting would earn me a littlebit of grace, but I wasn’t surprised that it didn’t. She didn’t owe me a damn thing after what I’d said. Getting her out of the box and helping our team to a lead wasn’t—and shouldn’t have been—enough.

After the game,I promised myself as I went to the bench.

I needed to make things right with her anyway. Pride be damned, I couldn’t just let this fester. And now that it was affecting the team, there was no way around it. I’d set this in motion, and I needed to be the one to put a stop to it, ideally before it cost us a game or something.

One of the downsides with this sport, though, was how fast things moved, and not just on the ice. When the game ended, we were encouraged to take off our gear and shower quickly so the media could come in. Before the reporters had even left the locker room, we were being ushered into the lounge to eat, reminded multiple times that we were leaving for the airport soon.

Then it was onto the bus, into the airport, onto the plane, and into the air. Before we’d even leveled out, Sabrina was asleep. Not long after, so was I. Then we were landing and being ushered off the plane and onto another bus, which took us to the hotel.

Room keys in hand, we all dispersed to our rooms.

Several of our teammates were going to hit the bar for a nightcap. It was still reasonably early, and anyway, the nap on the plane gave some people a second wind. They needed to wind down a bit before they called it a night. I was dead on my feet, ready pass out even though it was only 9:00 (Pittsburgh time, anyway; God only knew what time it was in… wherever we were). Still, I joined them, hoping Sabrina would too. Then I could find a chance to discreetly pull her aside and clear the air. Ideally before Tuesday night’s game.

But she didn’t come down to the bar.

Chapter 12

Sabrina

We’re going to the bar. You joining us?

The text from Laws made my chest tight. I wanted to hang out with my teammates. I really did.

But I was just not feeling it tonight.

Going to call it an early night. See you at breakfast.

Then I lay back on the hotel bed, still fully dressed, and just stared at the ceiling. I needed to get out of this funk. Ever since that confrontation with Lila in the locker room, I’d been off my game. Quite literally off it today—I hadn’t taken that many penalty minutes in one game since my youth days. Here I was thinking I needed to play my butt off so everyone could see that I deserved to be there, and what did I do? Give Nashvillethreepower play opportunities.

My team had managed to jailbreak me from one of them, but the other two—well, I’d just been lucky that Nashville’s power play was mediocre at best. If we’d been playing against Calgary or Seattle, it would’ve been a massacre even with our top-notch penalty kill.

Our top-notch penalty kill, which included Lila Hamilton, who’d gotten a well-deserved primary assist on that jailbreak goal.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Was it too soon to request a trade out of Pittsburgh? I liked the city and I liked most of my team, but I wasn’t so sure I could keep playing on a roster with someone who openly thought I shouldn’t be there. I was so worried that the rest of the team might think the same thing, and it was driving me up a wall.

This morning, when I’d arrived for our morning skate, I’d caught myself looking from one teammate to the next, wondering who was smiling to my face while sneering at my back. By the time I’d hit the ice, I’d been angry. So, so angry. By the time the puck had dropped for this afternoon’s game, I’d been too angry to play well. Too unfocused. Too undisciplined. And it had nearly cost my team. At least I’d managed a goal in the first period; a violent slapshot of a goal that had left me feeling raw and angry instead of victorious because that was all I felt today—raw and angry.

So which is worse? Playing well and letting them all think I’m just here because of my dad? Or falling apart and giving them a reason to say I never belonged here in the first place?

I covered my face with both hands and groaned into the stillness. How much of this was in my head and how much of it was real? Couldn’t I just, like, play hockey and enjoy the sport I loved? Did it have to be so fraught and full of suspicious people who thought I’d been handed a spot at the level they’d had to bust their asses to reach?